


In Front of the Children

by thought



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kimball and Carolina and the ethics of politics. As usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Front of the Children

Carolina's watching one of Wash's training sessions as an exercise in self-restraint and respecting his abilities as a team leader, leaning casually up against the wall in a failing attempt not to make wash and/or the kids feel nervous. Kids. Soldiers. She's trying not to fall into the widespread habit of referring to anyone under twenty-four as a kid. Necessity makes soldiers out of children quickly, and she's never seen the value on lingering over the loss. These are the people who are going to have to fight and die for their planet no matter their age.

Tucker wanders up to her piece of wall during one of the breaks. He's missing his helmet and rainwater is trickling slowly down out of his hair and over his ears and face. He's eating a bar of chocolate, making deliberately pornographic noises of enjoyment as soon as he notices the trainees staring at it. Wash glares at him. Tucker wolf whistles in reply.

"I thought you had paperwork?" she says.

Tucker tips his head back. "Yeah, well that was before the entire building started having a shitfit over some thrill seeker assholes who are apparently planning to try and fly a shuttle out of here next week."

"They do know what happened to the last one?"

"Apparently they think the whole space pirates thing is a trick by the government to keep anyone from contacting the inner colonies. I guess they managed to slip a few messages through to somebody offworld on Chatternet and that mysterious somebody told them there's nothing preventing anybody from leaving the planet."

Carolina snorts. "They do understand that even space pirates know how to use a computer?"

"They're conspiracy theorists. Who the fuck knows what's going on in their heads?"

"And Doyle's not publicising the plans for the diplomatic run."

Tucker presses his lips together. "Oh, you mean the suicide run that relies on failing tech and is probably gonna get a whole bunch of my friends killed, including Wash, who's supposed to be the fucking rational one? No, they're not eager to share with the class."

Carolina kicks a foot up against the wall behind her. "Please, Tucker, tell me your feelings about the run. I think I might've missed some of it the first thirty times."

He shoves the last of the chocolate in his mouth. The New Republic soldiers in the huddle on the training field snap to attention, and Carolina scans the far edge of the field until she sees Kimball striding across the mud. She and Wash both straighten up, and after a hard elbow to his ribs, so does Tucker. It's important to set a good example for the Feds.

They converge in the centre of the field (and it's an actual field-- no holographic training sim programs for the soldiers of Chorus) in time to hear the end of Wash's somehow vaguely patronizing report regarding the soldiers' progress.

"Keep up the good work, all of you," Kimball says, smiling at Wash like a distant aunt might smile at a child's crayon drawing. Carolina has considered talking to one or both of them, but the micro-aggressions have become so subtle that it's probably not doing damage to morale as much as it is sharpening both of their diplomatic and/or interrogation skills. Beside her, Tucker is staring pointedly up at the sky and very loudly not accusing anyone of being childish.

"I was just heading back into town," Kimball says. "Wanted to see if either of you would like to come along."

Tucker holds up a hand. "I just came from HQ, you can't make me go back. It's gotta be against the Geneva Convention or something."

"The what?"

"Never mind," Carolina cuts in. "I take it you heard the news."

"Mmhm. It's the reason I'm heading back to HQ. I'm meeting with Doyle and the transport and defence committees."

Carolina snorts. "What is there to meet about? Detain the In-- conspirators, crack down on off-world travel, seeing as that's apparently a concern."

"Yeah, where are they even getting the shuttle?" Tucker asks.

""Some private businesses have small transports, mostly for short-range shipping," Kimball says, a tightness around her eyes. "We assumed they were all put into use and subsequently made inoperable during the conflicts."

"You... assumed," Carolina says flatly. Wash taps his fingers against the leg plates of his armour.

"We don't make a habit of keeping track of private resources."

"Your society is literally at risk of mass-eradication. There's no such thing as private property when it comes down to it."

"Tell that to the old families," one of the soldiers mutters. Wash glares.

"We aren't going to be restricting people's rights," Kimball says briskly.

Carolina waves a hand dismissively. "I'm not talking theoretical planning, Kimball, if your people want to survive they'll have to make some sacrifices. Besides, conspiracy theorists or not I can promise you those people will be happier detained than dead."

"Depends if the prison serves borscht," another soldier mutters. A couple other soldiers laugh nervously, and then Jensen punches the speaker in the face, knocking her backwards into the dirt.

"Hey!!" Wash barks.

"Agent Carolina," Kimball says sharply under the distraction of Wash's reprimand. "Walk with me."

Tucker smirks. "Someone's in trouble," he mouths. Carolina smiles sweetly at him and fingers the pistol at her hip. Tucker twitches.

"Now, please, Agent," Kimball says quietly. Carolina trails after her with a strange combination of irritation and unease.

Kimball's already requisitioned a truck, and she watches Carolina's automatic check for explosives in silence. She also takes the driver's seat, which Carolina, as the sort of person who always makes sure she's the one in control of the vehicle, finds both petty and incredibly unnerving.

"You're upset that I pointed out the need for martial law," Carolina says once they've pulled out onto the road.

Kimball sighs. "No. By definition we've been under martial law since the ceasefire, and regardless I'm certainly not upset with you for expressing your opinion. You know I value your input."

"But..." Carolina drums her fingers impatiently. She's not looking for platitudes.

"But I'm surprised and disappointed that you'd have that discussion in front of the soldiers. Over half of that squad is New Republic. Do you really think they're going to react well to talk of restricting people's rights?"

Carolina turns a bit in her seat to get a better look at Kimball's expression. "I thought they'd value transparency. You're asking them to die out there, General, they deserve to know exactly what they're fighting for."

"They deserve to know that they can trust their leaders not to be as bad as the people we're fighting against."

"Well, as far as I know neither you nor Doyle are trying to destroy the planet," Carolina retorts, deliberately misunderstanding.

Kimball laughs under her breath, sharp and tired. "Read up on the consequences of the mines."

Carolina clenches her teeth. "Charon wants to exterminate you, Vanessa. I know you understand this. This isn't a place where any of you have the luxury of politics."

"So what have the last nine months been, then? Have you just been indulging our childishness when you spent hours beside me at the negotiating table, when I know you learned a new language just so you could fully grasp the intricacies of complex policies filled with jargon?"

"we all knew the threat was an immediate one. The recent attacks and transmissions have just made it the primary concern, as well. There were more soldiers training than policies being written in the last months, everyone was expecting a war."

Kimball presses her lips together, takes a turn too sharply. "We can't stop that shuttle, Carolina. If I could, in good conscience, believe me, I would."

"So you'll let your people die in good conscience instead."

"We'll talk to them. We'll present the facts. But at the end of the day I'm not willing to keep anyone hostage on Chorus."

"Charon is already doing that!" Carolina snaps, slamming her palm into the dashboard. "You are allowing those people to commit suicide so that you can what, preserve your precious morality? And how do you think that will make your men feel, General? What appropriately heroic framework will you weave around the story to make sure it remains inspiring?"

Kimball visibly composes herself, which just makes Carolina angrier. "I never said I would lie to my troops. To anyone on this planet. But I do think that a certain level of discretion should be used when throwing around such loaded ideas when they're still in the purely theoretical stage."

"And here I thought you wanted democracy," Carolina sneers. "Shouldn't everybody know all the options in that case?"

"In a perfect world--"

"In a perfect world you wouldn't have to do a lot of things. You can't use my own logic to fuel your justifications."

Kimball blows out a breath. "That's fair," she says. "There are no good answers, Carolina. But when it comes down to it, I'm one of the two people who has to decide what I can live with, what is in the best interests of these people."

"And the most qualified, I'm sure," Carolina says meanly, and immediately regrets it. Kimball doesn't look phased.

"You were the one who talked us out of an election. You can make that point, but you don't get to use it against me."

They pull up outside HQ, and Kimball lets the truck idle, finally turning to face Carolina over the consul. "Come to the meeting with me. Maybe everyone else will agree with you. Either way, your points are valid."

Carolina nods shortly.

Kimball straightens a bit. "But in the future, please save any delicate political debates for an appropriate audience."

Carolina's nails dig into her palms. "And who exactly is an appropriate audience, ma'am?"

Kimball meets her gaze unflinchingly. "Those people who have been chosen to make decisions pertaining to the issue in question."

Carolina feels a little sick to her stomach. "Understood," she says, and reaches for the door handle.

"Carolina," Kimball says, one hand half extended. Carolina freezes. "I'm not--" Kimball drops her hand to her lap, glances out the window. "I'm not-- neither Doyle or I are like Director Church. We're not--"

"May I be dismissed?" Carolina asks, barely restraining a snarl. Kimball slumps back into her seat, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Of course," she says quietly. Carolina does not slam the door on her way out.


End file.
